


I know the sound of your heart

by Softpsychos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John, Dancing, Drag Queens, Eventual Fluff, FTM Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, Light Angst, M/M, Military Kink, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Third Person, Pining Sherlock, Praise Kink, Pride, Protective John, Requited Love, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Song Lyrics, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Texting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 09:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softpsychos/pseuds/Softpsychos
Summary: "John set down his tea and, still holding his phone, glanced over at Sherlock. John was having that itching feeling he got when he though Sherlock was reading his mind and picking him apart piece by piece. John both loved and hated when Sherlock would pick him apart and deduce every last thing about him. On one hand, it was bloody brilliant. On the other hand, John hated it when he was predictable, when Sherlock knew exactly what he was going to do. And in this current dilemma of John’s wouldn’t he turn Percy’s proposition down? Shouldn’t he be the level headed, practical man he set out to be?Well, if that’s what he would most likely do, then John wanted to change that; To surprise Sherlock, to do something rash for once. And maybe, just maybe, he was doing this to get Sherlock bloody Holmes out of his head."





	I know the sound of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to finally post one of my fics, go me. I incorporated a lot of lyrics from songs in this fic for a bit of dramatic effect (and to show just how much John loves Queen). I used lyrics from two of Queen's songs: You're My Best Friend, and We Will Rock You. Near the end of this, I used a lyric from Troye Sivan's song For Him. In case you were wondering, I didn't make Sherlock being trans a whole big deal, because I don't think it has to be a big deal. I think that people should be able to be trans, and for it to be simple, no fuss. NORMALIZE IT!! I guess maybe that' just the way I wish the world was. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this fic, and I would love feedback! :)

 

 

Everyone has their freeze frame, record scratch, “you’re probably wondering how I got here” moment. That moment for John Watson was him wearing a Cher wig while holding his formerly-known-as “probably asexual and married to his work” flat mate’s hand in the middle of the London Pride Parade, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Let us instead start with night _before_ John saw Sherlock walk around their flat in studded boots.

John was sitting in his red chair, a copy of The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (Sherlock had laughed at his choice of novel when John had recovered it from his room earlier that day, though when John got up to make some tea not a half-hour later, he looked over his shoulder to see Sherlock thumbing through the pages of it.) in one hand and his cup of tea in the other, when his phone vibrated and lit up with a text. John finished the page he was on, put his “Come along pond” bookmark in to hold his place, and set the book on his lap before reaching for his phone.

John was curious as to who on earth would be texting him; It’s not as though he has many friends. There’s Sherlock, but the text wasn’t from him unless Sherlock had developed some kind of telepathic texting ability (which wouldn’t surprise John in the least, but it was highly unlikely). Nor was it likely from Greg, for Sherlock and John had just finished up a case that involved a biker gang and a rather large fish. So, John gave up on his little try at deducing, and unlocked his phone. Waiting for him was a message that read:

_From: Percy Phelps_

_Hey Johnny! It’s been a while, yeah?_

_I just got back from America after being there for nearly seven years now. Can you believe it’s been that long?_

_Anyhow, I heard that the London Pride Parade is tomorrow. I’d love to go, but it’s been years since I’ve gone to any sort of pride event, and I really don’t fancy going alone. So… I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to join me. Just like old times, yeah? You and me, celebrating our mutual love for men? ;)_

_Let me know if you’re interested, and we can work out the details. :)_

John set down his tea and, still holding his phone, glanced over at Sherlock. John was having that itching feeling he got when he though Sherlock was reading his mind and picking him apart piece by piece. John both loved and hated when Sherlock would pick him apart and deduce every last thing about him. On one hand, it was bloody brilliant. On the other hand, John hated it when he was predictable, when Sherlock knew exactly what he was going to do. And in this current dilemma of John’s wouldn’t he turn Percy’s proposition down? Shouldn’t he be the level headed, practical man he set out to be?

Well, if that’s what he would most likely do, then John wanted to change that, to surprise Sherlock, to do something rash for once. And maybe, just maybe, he was doing this to get Sherlock bloody Holmes out of his head.

John got an eyeful of Sherlock’s thin, lean, posh figure from across the way, and realized that: yeah, he really needed to get out of that flat and get _him_ out of his head.

So, John typed out a reply to Percy:

_From: John H. Watson_

_What the hell, why not? Text me the details._

Not a minute later, a response from Percy came.

_From: Percy Phelps_

_Fantastic! Can you meet me at Trafalgar Square about 9 tomorrow morning?_

_From: John H. Watson_

_Yes, I suppose so.._

_From: Percy Phelps_

_Great!  Please, please, please wear something flamboyant, cause I will be, and I don’t want to walk around with you if you’re going to be boring and predictable._

_From: John H. Watson_

_God, what are you wearing tomorrow, then?_

_From: Percy Phelps_

_I definitely_ won’t _be in my Lady Gaga costume._

John chuckled at his phone, and a responding shift of fabric and a dramatic huff came from the couch.

_From: John H. Watson_

_I can’t wait._

John set down his phone and looked down at his clothes. What the bloody hell is _he_ supposed to wear to a Pride Parade? Not only that, but what was he supposed to wear that was flamboyant? He was wearing a jumper, for Christ’s sakes.

John heard Sherlock’s indifferent voice emit from his right, “Got a date, then?”

John rested his forearms on his knees and turned his head to Sherlock, “Nope, not a date. At least, I don’t think it is,” John scratched his face in thought, “What made you think that it is?”

Sherlock sat up from his previous position, his blue robe rippling as he moved, and pressed his hands together against his chin, “Let’s see… you picked up your phone and read the text over twice. That says you got a compelling text with an offer to meet somewhere, but you weren’t sure if it was good idea to go, possibly because you aren’t really all that affiliated with the person, but more likely because you didn’t like the proposition.  You did that thing with your face where you pinch everything together, so that says you were giving it thought. Going by the fact that you texted the person back multiple times, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to go. After coming to that conclusion, you texted said person conversationally, your body language suggests it was an old friend… possibly a former lover that you were contacting. After finishing the conversation you looked down to decide what to wear. Conclusion? Date,” having finished his deduction, Sherlock raised his eyebrows in challenge.

John just shook his head, holding back his impulse to shout out, ‘brilliant!’, “It’s not a date,”

Sherlock laughed, “Really? What is this…‘occasion’ you’re attending with another person, then?”

John licked his lip and sighed, “If you must know, I’m going to the pride parade with an old friend from Uni,”

Sherlock leaned back against the couch and narrowed his eyes at John. After he had looked John over and analyzed him sufficiently, Sherlock stated, “I’m going with,” matter-of-factly, like it was the end of the discussion. It appeared that Sherlock did think it was the end of the discussion, because he stood up from the couch with a swift motion, and wrapped his robe around him, tying the belt around his waist into a neat bow.

John stood up from his chair ( _no way; this was not the end of the conversation. Sherlock was not just going to jump into his affairs. What was this, Sarah all over again?),_ and held out his arm to stop Sherlock from stomping off into his room, “Any particular reason you’re suddenly in need of going to pride with Percy and me?”

Sherlock straightened his posture and looked down his nose at John before completely ignoring his question, “For what you should wear tomorrow, it might help to know they’ll have an event commemorating queer and ally British soldiers,” Sherlock aggressively pushed past john and stomped into his room.

When Sherlock had effectively slammed his door shut, John looked at where Sherlock had just been standing and muttered to himself, “I really don’t want to know why he knows that,”

After going over what Sherlock had last said, John curled his lips into a wicked grin. He was definitely going to be on par with Percy’s ridiculousness.

* * *

 

John reached his room and searched through drawers, old boxes, the back of his closet, and under his bed before he found everything he was looking for. After looking at what was laid out on his bed, John feared that he might look too much like a male stripper, but wasn’t that part of the fun? On his bed was: his dog tags, a t- shirt from his army days that would undoubtedly be a bit tight on him now, camouflage spandex shorts that were basically the length of short boxers ( _god he was going to regret this),_ and brown combat boots. 

John looked down at his planned outfit and laughed. John thought to himself, _what would Percy think?_ Then _, God, what would_ Sherlock _think?_ John shook his head and shut out that voice in his head that reminded him a lot of his ‘people will talk’ voice.

Instead of getting inside his head, John plugged his headphones into his phone and cued up Queen in his music app. He hadn’t listened to Queen in positively ages. Back when he was a teen, he’d dance up in his room and sing along to Queen; everyday after school, or when he was feeling down and needed a pick-me-up, or that one time that he had a good old dance to Queen after John had had his first snog with another boy.

That night John sang along softly with the hero of his teenage years. And now the lyrics had meaning to them that John wished not to ponder on for too long lest he think about feelings he’s not meant to feel, feelings he’s been shoving down for too long.

 

_Ooh you’re the best friend that I ever had_

_I’ve been with you such a long time_

_You’re my sunshine_

_And I want you to know that my feelings are true_

_I really love you_

 

* * *

 

Sherlock didn’t let himself hope. He just didn’t. He also decidedly _did not_ do sentiment. Well… he used to not do sentiment, but it was becoming increasingly harder to ward of sentiment with his ‘conductor of light’ flat mate. So, when Sherlock sat down on the edge of his bed after not-so-spontaneously announcing that he would be going to the pride parade with John and his ‘friend’ _,_ he did not let himself hope that maybe John was going there because he was in fact bisexual, because if he was, what did that mean? Did that mean that all this time Sherlock had been right? That John had had sexual encounters and relationships with other men? That would just mean that John was interested in men, but not Sherlock. On top of that, it would most likely mean that John’s friend was in fact an ex… and didn’t people get back together with their exes? Wasn’t that a thing that ‘ordinary people’ do? 

So no, Sherlock would not think that John agreed to go to the pride parade because he was queer, because that would only bring Sherlock a healthy mixture of hope and pain.

Sherlock stood from his bed and crouched down so he could find the clear thin box that held all of his pride memorabilia, things like flags and clothes and music. It is a true shame it’s been hidden away all this time, but at least Sherlock could bring it out for a day. Sherlock pulled the box out from under the bed and popped off the lid. The first thing he saw was his pocket sized transgender pride flag.

He remembered the day he got that flag. It was a gift from Mycroft, actually. Oh, that brought Sherlock down memory lane, brought him back to things he’s left in his mind palace, untouched but not uninvited. Sherlock was about 15 when he’d fully transitioned. It wasn’t a big debacle in their house; Sherlock’s parents were about as supportive as parents could get. Kids at school on the other hand, were a different story. When Sherlock was ten, he walked up to Mycroft in a huff and said “I don’t feel like a girl. Never have. I want to be a boy,” So Mycroft decided to be a proper big brother and helped Sherlock through it all.

Sherlock smiled at the memory, and then realized he was smiling at a memory that included Mycroft in it, and decided that he needed to be particularly cruel to Mycroft the next time he saw him.

Sherlock placed the flag off to the side and picked up the next thing in the box, his favorite tank top. It was rainbow coloured on both sides, and the holes on the sides were particularly open to get that stereotypical gay style. Sherlock loved it. Sherlock continued to shift through the box and finally found what he was looking for: a pair of black skinny jeans. _I haven’t worn these in years._ Sherlock stood up and practically bolted to his closet. He almost forgot that he still had his studded boots. Oh, and they have heels! _I can’t wait to see John’s reaction to this. I’ll be practically twice his height with these on._ Sherlock set all his clothes in a neat pile and slipped his trans pride flag into the back pocket of his jeans.

Sherlock stood up and placed his hands on his hips, admiring his ensemble. Sherlock was just about to throw himself on his bed when he heard something from upstairs. Thinking it was John getting hurt, he threw open his door and started to head to the stairs. Then Sherlock heard the singing.

 

_Buddy you’re a boy make a big noise_

_Playin’ in the street gonna be a big man some day_

_You got mud on yo’ face_

_You big disgrace_

 

Sherlock laughed, _John is up in his room, singing along to Queen. What is this, 1977?_ Sherlock leaned himself against the wall _…Why have I not deleted the fact that that album came out in 1977?_ (John had told Sherlock once before that he knew when each of Queen’s albums was released, and Sherlock had asked John when the album with the ‘silly song with stomping’ had been released.) Sherlock stood standing there, listening to John’s singing and smiling to himself. After John’s singing had ceased, and Sherlock figured he had gone to bed, Sherlock retreated to his room for the night.

* * *

 

John woke to the sound of stomping coming from downstairs, and John groaned, his voice weak from sleep. _I really need to have another talk with Sherlock about early morning etiquette. There are people trying to sleep_! John reached out for his digital clock and tilted it so he could read it from his lying down position. 7:25 am. John set it back down on the bedside table, and rubbed his eyes with his fists in an attempt to make them feel less heavy. He was definitely going to need some tea. 

John made his way down the stairs in his pyjamas, for he had decided that he’d wait until it was completely necessary to get into his pride day getup. When John reached the living room, he saw that Sherlock had not had the same idea. John’s eyes had quite the sight before them. John looked Sherlock up and down: from his hair (done the way it normally was) to his rainbow tank top (that was open at the sides so as to show most of Sherlock’s pale and thin torso. Not to mention that it was long enough to hang off his arse in the back, which somehow made it look even better than usual) to his skinny jeans (that were definitely skinny, and accentuated his leg muscles, much to both John’s pleasure and dismay) to his black boots (which had heels. Heels! He’s already bloody tall enough as it is, why’s he got to go wearing heels too? Granted, they were probably only about an inch or two, but still.).

Sherlock must have noticed that John had been practically ogling him, because he raised his eyebrows at John, his smile internal. John simply shrugged and asked, “Tea?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flicked his hand (which John thought looked ridiculously more flamboyant than it usually did.)

“You’ll be ready to go in about an hour, right, Sherlock?” John turned to look at Sherlock as he sifted through the tea selection.

“I’m already ready, because I knew you’d nag me about it as soon as you were awake. So naturally, I calculated when you’d wake up and started getting read at precisely twenty-three minutes before you’d wake up,” Sherlock flopped himself on the couch, and his head rested on the armrest so that his curls fanned out.  

John let out a strained breath as he prepared the tea, “You didn’t calculate when I was going to wake up, you woke me up on purpose,” John turned to look pointedly at Sherlock, but he was pretending not to hear John. “Guess I was right then,” John muttered under his breath as he turned back to the task at hand.

* * *

 

John was in his get up for the day and stood by his door, summoning all the confidence he could muster. He was going to be confident and proud of himself for the whole day, even if he was wearing camouflage booty shorts. That was fine; it’s all fine. John took in a deep breath and opened his door.

John walked down the stairs at the same time Sherlock got up from the couch, “Jooohn! Are you ready? We’re –" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence and stared at John, his eyes raking down John’s body longer than what would be considered decent. His ever-changing eyes snapped back up to John’s and then it was John’s turn to raise his eyebrows in question. Sherlock blinked his eyes quickly at John before turning abruptly and heading for the door. John shook his head at his flat mate, and then followed after him like a loyal dog.

* * *

 

John and Sherlock got there right on the dot, but it was quite evident that Percy had been there much longer than the two of them had, for when the dynamic duo were in line of sight of Percy, they saw that he had his tongue down another man’s throat, and the other man had his hands cupping his arse.

“Well… looks like it’s just us then. I’m suddenly quite glad you forced your way into this,” John turned to look up at Sherlock who was ignoring John and had a smile on his face as he looked around at everyone who stood at the entrance. Their surroundings consisted of groups of people smiling and laughing and just… being proud. To John’s left, there was a person wearing a suit in the shape of a rainbow holding hands with another person who was wearing all black and had more piercings than John could count. John looked back at Sherlock who was still seemingly ignoring him, and nudged Sherlock’s arm with the back of his hand.

“Hmm?” Sherlock leaned his head towards John, but kept looking around. His eyes darted around in that particular way that let John know that he was deducing everyone and everything around them. This must have been some sort of deduction heaven for Sherlock: a crowd of people who weren’t too close nor were they rude, so it gave the perfect non-anxiety-inducing atmosphere for Sherlock to deduce in.

“I said thank you. For being here so I wasn’t awkwardly third-wheeling,” People around them started moving in after John thanked Sherlock, and all Sherlock did in response to John was give him a look that said “I’m always right; there’s no need to thank me,”

Sherlock started to walk off into the crowd, his heeled boots’ clicking drowned out with the sounds of singing and yelling. John, who was not about to loose the one grounding thing in the whole place, grabbed Sherlock’s arm and tried to sound commanding, but ended up sounding more pleading, “Don’t leave me,”

Sherlock looked down at his arm where John had grasped it, “Never,” Sherlock kept his face downturned to his arm, but raised his eyes to lock with John’s.

John let go of Sherlock’s arm and nodded towards where the crowd was going, “Lead the way,”

* * *

A couple hours had passed after walking through the crowd (“Look there’s a dog, John!”), visiting booths (one booth had rainbow cotton candy, and Sherlock just _had_ to buy them both one.), watching barely clothed dancers with feather crowns dance to crazy music (Which John shouldn’t have been a fan of, but Sherlock caught him dancing to it a bit, and the two men had shared a good laugh at that), and they even stopped by the stage where drag queens did covers of popular songs (John had commented on how hard it must have been to dance and strut across the stage with those heels. Sherlock had asked “Have much experience with high heels?” teasingly, but to his surprise John had admitted that he used to walk around his house in his mum’s heels when he was little. One time he had fallen and hit his head on the doorframe, earning him a small scar on the back of his head.) 

Probably the most prevalent event from those two hours aforementioned was the commemoration of LGBTQ+ soldiers. It was a surprisingly large group, filled with men, women, and everything in between. John had been hesitant to join at first, but Sherlock had kindly urged him to join saying that it was where he belonged, wasn’t it?

John was immensely enjoying himself. The people were kind and funny and entertaining, but he left the group as soon as he saw a fit man wearing a “no one knows I’m gay” shirt approach Sherlock and do some of the most obvious flirting John had ever seen.

John walked up from behind the other man and formed his face into a questioning expression.

Sherlock, who had a pink drink (with a little umbrella in it, mind you) in his hand, waved to John, “Oh look! It’s john! My John!” Sherlock moved past the other man without another look and walked over to John.

“Are you drunk?” John laughed because he had only left Sherlock for maybe 10 minutes, and had been checking over in his direction every couple of minutes.

“What? No, of course I’m not _drunk_ ,” Sherlock downed the rest of his drink and threw the disposable cup in the nearest trash can.

“Good, because I’m pretty sure you’ve only had at most two drinks,” John laughed again and his eyes searched Sherlock’s now slightly pink face. John saw someone over Sherlock’s shoulder approach them, and when they had gotten closer to the pair, John realized it was Percy who was walking over; Percy, who was definitely drunk.

“Johnny!” Percy patted his hand gently against John’s back “I didn’t see you this morning! It looks like you’ve found yourself a replacement though,” Percy turned to Sherlock and looked him over, “And a fine one at that! I see why you’ve left me now,” Percy chuckled and took a sip of whatever it was that was in his hand, tipping it in John’s direction as he swallowed his sip.

John plastered a fake smile on his face, “Actually, this is my flat mate. Sherlock,”

“Flat mate, eh?” Percy wiggled his eyebrows, “Alright, I get it now. I’ll be on my way then,” Percy started to walk away, but then turned halted and turned around. His voice sounded very much sobered up when he spoke to John next, “It was really nice seeing you again, John. If you ever want to go get coffee or something with me sometime, you have my number,” Percy gave John a weak smile and a small nod to Sherlock before leaving the pair for good.

John shifted towards Sherlock, “Sorry about-"

“I was right,” the proud face that Sherlock usually wore when he was right about something wasn’t present. Instead, a sorrowful look took its place.

John tilted his head to the side and pinched his eyebrows together, “Right about what?”

“Two things: One, that the ‘friend’ who texted you last night had at one point seen this event as possibly being a date, and two: you identify as bisexual, or at least did at one point,” Sherlock looked pointedly at Percy who was across the way and talking to a group of people.

“I still do,” John looked at Percy’s retreating figure, remembering the last time he had seen Percy’s strong frame walk away. He guessed that Sherlock had known that he and Percy were more that friends at one point.

“Still do… what?” Sherlock had his hands behind his back, his fingers tapping anxiously on the wrist under his fingers.

“Identify as bisexual. When _did_ you come to the conclusion that I was bisexual?” John turned his whole body to face Sherlock, a sign that John wasn’t going to be guarded about this, that he was going to open himself up to Sherlock; damn the consequences.

Sherlock continued to look away from John, “That night at Angelo’s when you made it clear that it was ‘all fine’,” Sherlock looked down and blew a thin stream of air from his lips. After a moment of thought, Sherlock turned to John in a swift motion, “If you still identify as bisexual, then why, in the whole time I’ve known you, have you not dated any men?”

John looked down at his shoes for a few seconds before looking into Sherlock’s eyes, “Because no other man could ever compare to my insufferable, brilliant, incredible flat mate,” 

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he were going to respond to John, but simply left it slightly agape as his eyes blinked rapid fire.

“Are you okay? Was that too much? I-“ John’s eyebrows furrowed, and he took on a worried expression.

Sherlock took a step towards John so that he was crowding John’s space, “Do you mean it?”

John’s voice was breathless from Sherlock’s sudden closeness, “Of course,”

Sherlock cupped John’s cheeks in both of his hands and lowered his eyes to John’s thin lips. Sherlock brought his eyes back up to John’s, his expression questioning, asking for consent. John licked his lips in answer, and Sherlock brought his lips to John’s. It was a soft collide of lips, and though Sherlock may have initiated the kiss, John was quick to take charge. His deft tongue teased at Sherlock’s lips as they pleaded to open up Sherlock’s mouth and explore. Sherlock was happy to oblige, and suddenly they were both exploring each others’ mouths as they stood off to the side of the current march of a band, the clouded London sky allowing a kind amount of sun to warm their skin.

Before the two men got a chance to get any further with their new-found grant at exploration, a voice from behind them yelled, “Heads up!” and then there was something large and… hairy on John’s head. John broke away from the kiss and put his hands on his head. Sherlock got over his initial shock and covered his mouth to muffle his laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?” John took the hairy thing off his head to see that it was a wig. Not just any wig, though; it was a wig meant to imitate Cher’s infamous hair. John frowned at Sherlock, who was still laughing at John, and got on his tip-toes to plop the wig right on Sherlock’s head.

“Hey, Hey! Not the curls!” Sherlock took the wig off of his head and patted at his curls. He threw the wig back at John, who caught it and put it back on his own head.

“What? Don’t like getting your curls messed up?” John bit his lip to taper down his smile. Sherlock threw a playful glare at John, and John took that as an invitation to further mess up Sherlock’s formerly perfect head of curls. He raised himself slightly on his toes and pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. John mischievously ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, earning him a small whine-moan combination from Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled back, “You better take that wig off,”

“Not a bloody chance. I’ve grown attached to it now,” John still had his left hand in Sherlock’s hair and he was carding his fingers through the curls methodically.

“John…” Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his forehead on John’s.

“Yeah?” John brought his other hand to the small of Sherlock’s back, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s middle.

“Please don’t tell me this is just for today,” Sherlock’s eyelids pinched tighter together. John really hated seeing that expression on his face.

John gave Sherlock a small kiss on the cheek, “No. No, this, whatever _this_ is, is for as long as you want it,”

“I want it for forever,” Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and searched John’s blue ones querulously.

“I can give you my forever,” John looked like he was about to say something else, but gave it up and smoothed Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb.

“What is it?” Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered slightly with drawled pleasure.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” John brushed his thumb over Sherlock’s bottom lip lightly.

Sherlock brought his hand up to John’s wrist where it rested against Sherlock’s face and brought it down to their side. “No. It’s something. I know you,”

“It’s just… you said you were married to your work,” John’s voice was soft and almost sad, like none of this was real, like it was another one of his dreams.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand reassuringly, “And then I brought you along to nearly all my cases,”

The two men looked and laughed at each other, and if the scene were a movie, a lovely song would have started playing in the background. And if it were a movie, it would have faded out slowly to transition to the next scene.

* * *

 

The lights moved across the stage. The dancers went through a routine. The music played loudly around them. The bass vibrated hard enough to feel, and John bobbed his head along slightly.

Sherlock curled his lips up as he looked down at John; John who was watching the people on the stage dancing and singing. Sherlock couldn’t believe this was all real. Here he was, holding hands with John, _his_ John, and they were something, a something that included them being in a monogamous relationship for ‘forever’, or so they had decided.

John turned to Sherlock and went up on his tip-toes so he could be close enough for Sherlock to hear him over the blasting music, “This music is quite a bit different from back in my day,”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand (it was quite nice that their respective dominant hands were opposite, so they could hold hands and still do whatever it was they needed to do with their dominant hand) “You mean it’s a bit different from Queen?”

John’s face turned red (which Sherlock thought was absolutely adorable), “I guess you heard me singing last night, then,”

Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head, “It was hard to miss your rendition of ‘we will rock you’. I’m quite sure even Mrs. Hudson heard it,” John’s response to that was an exaggerated frown, and Sherlock pulled him in for a kiss to wipe the frown off of his face.

Mid-snog, John reached his hands to cup Sherlock’s arse (something he’d been dying to do for the longest time), and felt something in Sherlock’s back pocket. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled it out from Sherlock’s pocket. John pulled away slightly and brought it up so he could look at the ‘mystery arse pocket item’.

“It’s my transgender pride flag,” Sherlock looked at the flag, and deliberately _not_ at John.

John put the flag back in Sherlock’s pocket and then brought his hand up to rest over Sherlock’s heart, “Sherlock, look at me,” and Sherlock eventually did. “I like to think I know you fairly well, and I want you to know that there isn’t a thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore. Well… there is that whole thing where you’re a complete prick sometimes, but other than that, nothing,”

Sherlock nodded, a side of his mouth lifting to a shy smile, “You’ve got questions, then?”

“Just the one,” John tilted his head to the side, indicating that he was certain Sherlock knew what John wanted to ask.

Sherlock paused slightly, “Yes,” and shifted his eyes down to John’s hand, just somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t his eyes.

“Hey,” John lifted Sherlock’s chin so that Sherlock would look at him, “I love you for everything about you, okay?”

Sherlock’s eyed did their surprised flutter routine, “You… you love me?”

John snaked his hands up Sherlock’s chest to wrap around his neck, “Of course I do you prat,” 

Sherlock laughed at the confusingly endearing nickname, “I love you too,” The two men smiled at each other like idiots before crashing into each other via lips and tongue.

 

_We’ve been making shades of purple out of red and blue_

_Sickeningly sweet like honey_

_Don’t need money_

_All I need is you_

_All I need is you, you_

 

* * *

 John and Sherlock sat on a blanket in the grass (off to the side of the parade where people were picnicking), their legs intertwined as they sat hip to hip, “You know, I never envisioned our first kiss would include you wearing a Cher wig,”

“You envisioned what our first kiss would be like?” John pulled a grape off the stem and popped it into his mouth.

Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows, “Among other things,”

John smiled at Sherlock as he chewed his grape and eventually swallowed it. John then twisted himself expertly so his shins pinned the outside of Sherlock’s legs and his knees bracketed Sherlock’s hips. John reached to play with Sherlock’s curls (he was practically obsessed with doing that at this point). Sherlock grasped John’s hips with his long fingers, “Care to enlighten me about these ‘other things’?”

Sherlock bit his lip and slowly moved his hands up and down John’s army-shirt-clad abdomen, “I do like you in these shorts,” he muttered and looked up at John from under his long eyelashes. John smiled and sat back on his heels, his hands moving to rest on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock lifted a hand and reached under John’s collar to pull out the necklace with John’s dog tags on them. Sherlock’s voice lowered to almost a growl, “But I like these more,”

John grinned and wetted his lower lip with his tongue, “Easy there tiger; we’re in a public place,” John lowered himself to kiss Sherlock’s jaw. His lips worked at the sharp bone near Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock hummed and tipped his head back slightly, “You like that though, don’t you,” His voice was becoming too breathy for it to be decent, but the fantasies that were coming to mind involving him and John in a public place were really taking their toll.

John hummed in Sherlock’s ear to confirm that he was most likely sharing similar fantasies, but instead of indulging in them, John pulled himself away from Sherlock and slowly stood up, “I’d rather our first time be at home though, Sherlock,” He put his arm out to help Sherlock up.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up, “Ever the romantic,”

“Come along Sherlock. Let’s go home,” John intertwined his fingers with Sherlock’s long ones. The feeling of Sherlock’s hand in his was something John thought would never get old. It was the most grounding thing he had felt in a long time.

John picked up their belongings, and Sherlock stood by, just holding John’s hand because he very much liked the view whilst John bent over to pick up their things, “Only if you keep the necklace on and never put that wig back on,”

John eyed Sherlock, obviously aware of where Sherlock’s eyes had been, but sighed when Sherlock gave him an impassive and innocent look, “As you wish,”

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I assume you at least scrolled through the whole thing, if not read it all, because you're reading this right now. I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave comments, I'll do my best to respond to them :)


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